


The Box and The Letter (Fred Weasley)

by alh



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:53:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22468948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alh/pseuds/alh
Summary: Aralia and George finally face the twins' shared bedroom a month after the war and find that Fred has left a box of things for Aralia to find should he not be there to give it to her.
Relationships: Fred Weasley/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 26





	The Box and The Letter (Fred Weasley)

**Author's Note:**

> the ending is rushed... enjoy!

**The Box and The Letter**

**Fred Weasley**

* * *

The splintered wooden door with faded paint stands before them, covered in small pieces of parchment stuck to its surface with permanent sticking charms. Most of the pieces of parchment are covered in small jokes or doodles or rules that _definitely must_ be followed whilst inside the small bedroom. On the middle of the door, though, in cursive writing, outlined to be bold, are the words _Fred and George’s Room_ with, in slightly messier writing underneath _beware, mother, it’s probably a mess in here_. It sucks the breath from Aralia’s lungs until she feels like she’s choking on air. George’s eyes can’t look at it for longer than a second and he finds himself staring at the brass handle of the door, instead, willing himself to reach out and grab it. He doesn’t. Instead, he waits for Aralia to do it - because he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to enter that room again without a gentle nudge. His hands are clammy and a sickly sort of warm against Aralia’s but she doesn’t care, is just glad that George is there, keeping her rooted to the creaky wooden floor boards of the Burrow. Her stomach twists uncomfortably and she reaches for the handle. “You’re sure you want to do this right now?” Aralia asks George, who’s eyes are misty and a muddy sort of brown. All she can see in them is _Fred_ and she wants to scream and cry because how the hell is she supposed to look at George Weasley for the rest of her life and _not_ be reminded of his other half, his brother. George swallows, takes a deep breath and nods, “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do it if I don’t do it now.”

The room is covered in a thin layer of dust, left untouched for just over a month, now and there’s spider webs forming around the slightly open window of the Burrow. There’s old order sheets on the rickety wooden desk in the corner of the room and their old Cleansweep brooms stand against the far wall, gleaming in the sunlight coming through the bay window. Their beds are still made, although Aralia reckons there’ll be enough dust mites to last a lifetime living within the sheets. George’s hand slips from hers and he walks slowly towards the brooms in the corner of the room. He picks one up, observes it as though he’s never seen it before nor used it a day in his life. Aralia sits on the edge of Fred’s single bed and looks around sadly with her heart squeezing in her chest. On his small bedside table, being held up by only three legs and some sort of charm to stop it from tipping over, is a picture frame. Inside, in a moving photograph, are Fred, George and Aralia outside of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes; Aralia is standing in front of Fred, one arm holding her to his chest and the other wrapped around his brother’s shoulders. They’re smiling and laughing and Aralia can hear the voice of Molly Weasley bickering with Arthur over how to work the camera like it was just yesterday. A tear escapes her amber eyes and she picks the photo up, delicate fingers tracing the outline of her and Fred’s bodies. George kicks a glass eyeball that had been beside the window across the room, sniffling to himself after catching a glimpse of Fred’s Quidditch jersey from the open wardrobe door, and it rolls under Fred’s bed. It stops with a clunk and George and Aralia share a look of confusion.

It’s a box, black and covered in a thick layer of dust. George sits it on the bed, falling to his knees when he opens it. Aralia watches the dust fly from the lid which clatters to the floor and sends the molecules floating delicately through the room, catching in the sunlight. “I think this is for you.” George whispers, seemingly unable to bring himself to talk at a normal level. His heart is in his stomach as he hands an even smaller black box to Aralia with tears in his eyes. The box, apart from the smaller box and letter, is filled with random objects from the first batch of items for the skiving snack boxes and exploding beetles, pieces of parchment with scribbles all over and a few photographs of Fred and George, of The Weasley’s together and one of Aralia and Fred at the Yule Ball. “I’ll leave you to read that.” George says and pockets the photographs of him and his brother with an aching heart. He _knows_ , knows that when he returns to the room in five minutes time, Aralia Scamander will probably be a puddle of weeping tears and a part of him doesn’t want to leave. “Don’t be silly-“ she shakes her head and makes a move to leave the room herself because this is _his_ room, the room he shared with Fred and she can’t exactly ask him to leave. But George is already beside the door, looking at her with eyes filled with sympathy, “trust me, Lia,” his voice is shaky and filled with raw emotion and her heart clenches for what feels like the millionth time in the past twenty minutes. “You’ll want to be alone in here for this one.”

She waits a few moments, until she can hear George sobbing from the kitchen and just when she thinks she’s going to put the box back and never look at it again, her fingers don’t hesitate in opening the letter. Fred’s handwriting is scratchy, but Aralia supposes its probably because whenever this letter was written, it was done quickly and with an old quill and barely any ink. She’s hit with a fresh wave of tears and her lungs feel like all the air is being sucked from them all over again as she reads;

**_Aralia,_ **

**_I don’t know if you’ll ever read this. I hope you don’t have to. I hope that we make it through this and live in a big house with sliding glass doors and a window overlooking the city. The house you said you wanted the first time I told you I loved you. I’ve known since then, really, what I wanted and when I’d go about achieving it. But this wars gotten in the way - pretty selfish of it, I’d say. And I don’t know if I’ll ever get the chance to wake up next to you in our own house, overlooking the hills and I don’t know if I’ll get to have children with you and see the light in your eyes ever again. I don’t. But I hope to Merlin I do. If you are reading this, I love you and I continued to do so until our very last moment and I’ll continue to love you, even when I’m gone. I’m gone, and I can’t tell you all of this in person because this war was cruel in many ways but I_ ** **_need_ ** **_you to be there for George. We’re leaving the minute Bill gets here and I don’t know if I’ll make it back. But if I die and he does get defeated (You Know Who) then I know I died fighting for a world where you can life freely. I wish I could’ve given you this before, but now there’s no time. I love you, Aralia. Forever._ **

**_Fred._ **

Her breaths are stuttered and rigid as she cries, tears flowing from her eyes so heavily that she can barely make out the writing. Aralia’s fingers are shaking, wrapped tightly around the black box and she lets out a gut wrenching sob as the silver band, diamond gleaming in the light, is revealed. Her whole world feels like its crumbling all over again and all of a sudden she’s back in the great hall, hunched over Fred’s rigid body and she’s screaming into his chest that doesn’t rise and fall and doesn’t have that beautiful laughter that she’d fallen in love with coming from it anymore. Aralia finds herself wishing that she was with Fred, even if that meant that she never got to walk the earth another day in her life because life without him wasn’t worth living, enjoying, she couldn’t breathe without him, couldn’t see anything with as much light and happiness as he once had.

And George is at her side in a matter of seconds, falling immediately at the heap of her body that’s sunken onto the floor. But she doesn’t open her eyes, _can’t_ open her eyes because if she does, she’ll see him, his eyes, his nose, his chin, freckles, his sad smile but it _won’t be him_ and that’ll be the worst part of it all. So she sobs, eyes closed and body limp in George’s arms until her throat closes and her eyes are practically sealed shut they’re so swollen. The silver ring is still clutched tightly in her fist and she doesn’t think she’ll ever be able to let go. “It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts,” she sobs over and over. George sobs too, clutching the fabric of her wooden jumper, adorned with the letter ‘F’ on it. “I know. I know.” He whispers.

The sun has fallen from the sky and the light no longer shines through the bedroom window. Aralia stops crying, George is reduced to his tears collecting at the edges of his eyes and they sit in silence, sifting through the boxes of photographs hoarded by Fred and they laugh, _cry some more_ , cringe and _cry_. It’s not until Molly calls for dinner that Aralia looks, again, to the small wing on top of Fred’s bedside table. “Are you going to wear it?” George asks, voice hoarse. His head nods toward the wooden table and Aralia sighs. “I don’t know. It’s not like it stands for an engagement anymore.” She nibbles at the skin on her chapped lips. George is silent for a moment. Then, “I think it means more than that, you know? Like, a memory of him and everything you two wanted.”

Aralia nods. “Everything we won’t have.” She mumbles sadly. George sighs, leans forward and pulls her in for another hug.

“He really loved you.”

“I really loved him.”

A moments silence. “Dinner?”

“Yeah.”


End file.
